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THAT 
SOMETHING 



W: W. WOODBRIDGE 




THE SMITH-DIQBY COMPANY 

Tacoma, Washikqton 

1914 



76 3 ^^Y^ 



Copyright, 1914 
By Smith-Kinney Co, 



DEC 22 1914 

©CI.A39073a 



•v>/ 



^ 



PRINTED BY 




TACOMA, WASH. 




DEDICATED 

TO THE ROTARY CLUBS 

OF THE WORLD 

BY THE 

TACOMA ROTARY CLUB 
NUMBER EIGHT 

TACOMA, WASH. 



Then Randolph turned to me. 

''Man, write that story you've told 
us. Write it so that every man may 
read. Send that message out into the 
world. If men will read that story, 
read and reread, until it is ivritten on 
their memories, if men will believe the 
message you bring, and then if they 
will hut awake that something within 
their souls that now lies asleep — / say 
if you ca7i make men do this, you will 
have done more for mankiiid than any 
man or any thousand men have d^ne in 
many, many years. Write it, man, 
zvrite it word for word as you have 
told it here, so every man may read. 
Write it, man, write it!" 

And so it has been written. 



"THAT SOMETHING 



^J 



This happened a long, long time ago. 

I never see a man limp without think- 
ing of that day. 

The sky wept. 

No rift of brighter color broke the 
drabness of it. 

I thought the universe wept. 

That was my outlook. 

The very times were in misery. 

Men were out of work. 

I was one of them. 

I had slept the night before on th? 
cold, cem.ent floor of the city's jail. T 
slept as a tired dog sleeps, a dog worn 
out with a fruitless chase. All of th-^ 
night before, I had walked, walked, 
walked, — my pride keeping me from 
this place. And so the day had found 



12 "That Something*' 

me walking, aimlessly, looking only for 
food, shelter and work. This could not 
last forever, so that night I had stum- 
bled down the low, narrow hallway of 
the jail, and been let into a barred cell 
with a hundred others. And there I 
had lain as one dead, on the cold, hard 
iloor. 

But it is of the day that followed that 
night in jail that you shall hear. 

For that was the day of my life. 

It was then that I found ''That 
Something.'' 



My feet were very tired. 

My soul wept with the sky. 

I stood, as in a wilderness alone, on 
the corner of a great thoroughfare in a 
great city. 

And then a man stopped by my side. 

He was of my height and build. 



'That Something" 13 

I caught a glimpse of his face. 

I thought that this man might have 
been myself, if 

But my present need drove out reflec- 
tions. 

And so I laid my hand on his arm. 

"I am hungry," I said simply. 

He turned slowly and looked at me. 
First his gaze took in every detail of 
the outer man, from my water soaked 
cap to my poor, cracked shoes. And 
then, through my eyes, he seemed to 
search my soul. 

I stood there abashed. 

I laugh when I think of that now. 

But then — it was different. 

"Well," he said presently, "suppose 
you were fed. What then?" 

I shifted my weight from one tired 
foot to the other. 

"Fd try to get a job somewhere," I 
muttered after a moment. 

"You'd try?" he asked. 



14 "That Something" 

"Yes, try," I answered, "although 
there is little chance. Nobody wants 
men now. Fll try, sir. But I don't 
care for that now. It's food I want. 
I'm hungry. Can you help me?" 

"No," he answered, a note of pity in 
his voice. "I cannot help you. No man 
can." 

"But you could feed me,'' I said, with 
some petulance in my voice. 

"It is not food you need!" 

"What then?" I asked. 

"That Something," was his reply. 

A man joined him. They began talk- 
ing of matters of mutual interest. I 
was shuffiing away through the driz- 
zzling, miserable rain, when he called 
me back, and handed me his card. 

''Man, go find 'That Something,' " 
he said, ''and ivhen you've found it, 
come to me." 

"Come to you for what?" I asked. 



*That Something'' 15 

*To thank me," was his answer, and 
he and his friend passed on. 



I believe in miracles. 

There used to be such things. 

Man has been taught to work the 
miracles of today. 

He gives them another name. 

But they are miracles, just the same. 

There were two words that stuck in 
my memory. 

*'That Something!" 

I fell to wondering. 

I turned into a pool room, and found 
a seat. 

I sat there thinking. 

The balls on the tables before me 
clicked nickles away from men who 
could ill afford the pleasures of the 
place. 

I sat there a long, long time. 



16 *That Something" 

There was nowhere else to go. 

Ahead of me I saw another night in 
jail. 

Yet the day seemed longer than the 
night. 

It was warm in there. The hum of 
voices, the regular click, click, click of 
ivorj'-, the occasional thumping of cue 
on marble floor — all this in time devel- 
oped into a dull chorus of monotony. 

And then I fell asleep. 

I believe in miracles. 

I believe in visions as well. 

But it is only natural that I should 
have dreamed oi ''That Something" — 
so perhaps it was neither the one nor 
the other. 

You will think it a foolish dream. 

Yet it changed my life. 

That's reason enough for the telling. 

You may laugh at it scornfully. 

Then my dream will do you no good. 

You may see in it what I saw. 



"That Something" 17 

Then you will take your place with 
the masters of men. 

There were once two men who went 
out to find gold. 

Each found what he sought. 

The one threw what he found back 
into the muddy stream. 

The other recognized the gold for 
what it was. 

The one was a failure. 

The other a success. 

It is so in life. 



And this was my dream : 

/ dreamed that I aivoke! 

That is the most wonderful part of 
the dream. 

For in my dream, I realized that I 
had been asleep. 

A long, long sleep, from the very 
beginning of things. 



18 "That Something" 

And I saw myself, there in the pool 
room, asleep. 

Then I saw myself start, my eyes 
opened and I dreamed that I saiv. 

''What waked me?" I asked in my 
dream. 

''You waked yourself," answered a 
\oice nearby. 

I turned about, but no one was near. 

"Who are you?" I asked. 

"I am 'That Something,' " came the 
reply. 

"But where are you?" 

"/ am hidden in your soul," 



For some moments I thought over 
what was said. 

"How," I stammered then, "how did 
you get there?" 

"I was born there." 



"That Something" 19 

''Why have I not known you were 
there before?" 

''No man knows it," answered the 
voice, "until he awakes." 

"No man?" I asked. "Are you in 
other men's souls as well?" 

''There is 'That Something' in 
everyman's soul, which can move the 
mountains or dry the seas." 

"Then," said I, "you must be Faith !" 

"Yes," came the answer, "I am Faith, 
but I am more than Faith. / am that 
ivhich makes men face the fires of Hell, 
and ivin." 

"Then," said I, "you must be Confi- 
dence as well." 

"I am more than Confidence. / am 
that which makes the babbling brooks 
lift worlds upon their wavelets.'' 

"You are Power," I cried. 

"I am more than Power," answered 
the voice. "/ am that which makes the 



20 "That Something" 

wretched failure lift up himself and 
rule the world.'* 

"You are Ambition, I know you 
now," I cried. 

"Yes," answered the voice, "/ am 
all you say, Faith, Confidence, Poiver, 
Ambition and more. For greater than 
all, is 'That Something/ / am that 
zvhich every man must find in his soul, 
or else he will be but a clutterer of the 
earth on which he lives." 

"But how can man find you?" 

"Even as you are finding me now," 
came the answer. "First you must 
awake, then seek, and when you have 
found, you must learn to control " 

"Control what?" I asked confused. 

"That Something," came the reply. 
"Borrow it from your soul and baptise 
your life with it. Anoint your eyes, 
that you may see; anoint your ears, 
that you may hear; anoint your heart, 
that you may BET 



"That Something" 21 

"But tell me," I cried, frantically, 
for the voice was trailing off to almost 
nothing, "how can I do this? How? 
How?" 

"This is the secret," came the voice 
to me as the whisper of a gentle breeze 
of springtime, "the talisman of success, 
which write upon your memory in let- 
ters of fire." 

"Yes! Yes! What is this talisman?" 

"These words, "I WILL!^" 



And then I awoke with a start. 

A man was shaking me roughly. 

"Clean out of here," he was saying. 
"We aint running no free rooming 
house for bums. If you want to sleep, 
take a sleeper, but get out of here." 

"I will," I answered unthinkingly, as 
I turned towards the door of the place. 

"I WILL." 



22 "That Something" 

My words brought the dream back to 
me vividly. 

I stood in the doorway, peering out 
into the rain. 

A boy with a dozen bundles stopped 
near me to shift his load. 

"I'll help you, son," I said, and I 
laughed gladly as I took half his load 
and started with him down the street. 

"Gee, mister," he said, "dat's pretty 
square of you, all right. How far you 
going, this way?" 

"Where are you taking these things ?" 
T asked. 

He told me. 

"Why, that's right where I'm going," 
I answered, in mock surprise. 

And so we hurried on our way. 

It 2vas then the clouds overhead be- 
gan to break. 

Before we had gone half way, the 
sun peeped out, and the boy by my side 
laughed with the pure delight of it. 



'That Something'' 23 



'*By Golly, mister, she's going to be 
some handsome day tomorrow, aint it?" 
'1 WILL," I answered absently. 
He looked up at me, startled at my 
answer, started to ask a question, 
thought better of it, and giving me 
another queer look, trudged on in 
silence. 

When he had delivered his packages, 
he turned back towards the thorough- 
fare; and, as I followed, he asked me, 
with the innocent impertinence of boy- 
hood: 

''Say, mister, where do you work?" 
''Why, I'm working for you, right 
now. It's good to work, don't yor 
think?" 

"But aint you got no steady job?" 
"Yes," I answered firmly, "I WILL." 
Again he cast at me his queer look, 
and quickened his pace. 

We went together to the store at 
which he worked. It was the largest 



24 /That Something" 

in the city. He hurried through a 
doorway at the rear, and I found my- 
self in a large room. 

A man stepped up to me and asked 
what I wanted. 

''I have come here to work." 

*'What department?" he asked. "Who 
sent you?" 

There were many men in there, pack- 
ing boxes. 

Before I could answer his question, 
some one called him, and he hurried 
away. 

I took off my coat, and hung it on a 
nail near where the other men had 
hung theirs. 

I started to work, following the ex- 
ample of those near me. 

A half hour later, the man who first 
accosted me, passed. 

''Oh," he said, as he paused behind 
me, "so they put you at it while I was 
gone, did they?" 



"That Something" 25 

"I'm doing my best, sir," I answered, 
as I drove a nail home with a bang. 

And so I worked until six o'clock. 

And the sun was very bright outside. 

When the six o'clock bell rang, the 
men began filing by the clock. 

"What about the clock?" I asked the 
man in charge. 

"Didn't they give you a number?" 

"No." 

Then I told him my name, he gave 
me a number and I punched out. 

The boy was waiting for me at the 
door. 

"How'd you get the job?" he asked 
curiously. 

"Why, that was gotten for me before 
I showed up there," I answered. 

"Who got it for you?" he asked. 

"That Something," was my answer. 

"Aw," he answered, "quit your 
stringing me. How'd you get on. I 
seen a dozen men try to get in on that 



26 "That Something' 



work this morning, and they was all 
turned down." 

"But/' I explained with a smile, 
"they had never found That Some- 
thing/ " 

He again favored me with the queer 
look. 

"Say, where do you live?" he asked 
finally. 

"I am going to find a place now," I 
answered. 

"Well, say," he cried, "my maw 
keeps a boarding house, and it's all 
right, too. Why don't you come up to 
my place?" 



There was but one other boarder. 

He was a professor of a number of 
ology branches at a nearby denomina- 
tional college. 



"That Something'' 27 

He was a little man, with unreason- 
able hair on his face, and very little on 
his head. 

He wore thick glasses perched on a 
beaked nose. 

His eyes were small and black like 
shoe buttons. 

He watched me covertly as I ate. 

When the meal was finished, he in- 
vited me to sit with him in his room. 

"I hope you don't think me prying," 
said he, when we were seated, ''but I 
have been trying to figure you out." 

"Yes?" 

"Yes," he reiterated, "and I have 
come to the conclusion that you are a 
student of sociology." 

I laughed. 

"Bobby tells us you are packing boxes 
down at his store." 

I nodded assent. 

"Then," he said triumphantly, "of 
course, it is for the study of the con- 



28 "That Something" 

ditions of the working masses that you 
are down there." 

*'Yes," I admitted, "I am very much 
interested in conditions of the masses 
right now." 

'Then you can help me," he cried. '*I 
am writing a series of papers on that 
very subject. Will you answer me 
this, please. What is it that keejjs the 
under dog down. What is it that the 
upper ten possesses that the under ten 
thousand does not have?" 

"Why, it's That Something,'" I 
answered. 

"What do you mean? Education? 
Environment?" 

Before my mind was flashed the pic- 
ture of my boyhood. I saw my home, 
I remembered the tender care of my 
parents, the love of a mother, the guid- 
ing hand of a father. I saw myself in 
college, at the head of my class. I re- 
membered that day when I was given 



"That Something'' 29 

a sheet of parchment, and was told that 
I was a Master of Arts. And then, in 
the twinkling of an eye, the scene 
changed, and I saw that awful room, 
with a hundred men lying around me 
on the cold, hard floor. 

"No," I answered, "neither of thos.e 
things really count. 'That Some- 
thing' is different entirely. I don't 
just know what it is myself now, but 
I am going to find it, pin it down and 
then I will tell you more of it." 

And as I looked into his face, I no- 
ticed the same puzzled expression as 
the boy had worn. And so, by mutual 
consent, the subject was changed, and 
we talked of trivial things. 



And for a week or more I packed 
boxes and drove nails. 
I was a good packer. 



30 *That Something'' 

I made "That Something" work 
with me all the time. 

One day, I noticed the shipping clerk 
had ahead of him more than he could 
handle. 

There were men in the department 
idle. 

They could do nothing until he 
checked up to them. 

I laid down my hammer and walked 
over to where he stood. 

*'I am to help you this afternoon," I 
said simply. 

He looked up with a start. 

"Oh," he exclaimed. Then: "Well, 
that's good. I'm glad they have sense 
enough to give me somebody to help 
out at last." 

He handed me a bunch of papers, 
and made room for me at the desk. 

The superintendent of the depart- 
ment was out of the room at the time. 



*That Something" 31 

Presently he returned and glanced at 
me curiously. 

"So they've got you helping out 
Dickey?" he asked. 

I shrugged my shoulders without 
looking up, and continued figuring. 

When I left the room, that night, the 
superintendent of the department joined 
me. 

"Say," he said, as we turned up the 
street, "I never did just get onto how 
you were put in there. What's the 
idea? Working through to learn the 
business?" 

"Yes," I answered with confidence, 
"just that. I am to learn every detail 
of it." 

"Well, I thought something of the 
kind. Which one of 'em are you kin 
to?" 

"I do not think it wise to discuss that 
at this time," was my answer. 



32 "That Something" 

"Oh, sure/' he hastened to say. "I 
don't mean to be inquisitive. Any- 
thing I can do to help you, let me 
know." 

And then he left me. 



The shipping clerk was a bright, 
young fellow. 

I liked him, and he liked me. 

One day, shortly after I had received 
my first raise in wages, he came to me 
with a problem. 

That night I stayed down with him 
and we worked it out together. 

We soon got in the habit of staying 
down one night of every week, and 
working over his systems. 

He lacked originality. 

I helped him. 

He had been doing things just like 
the fellow before him had done them. 



"That Something'' 33 



The business had been growing rap- 
idly — practically doubled. 

We worked out an improved system. 

We drew up forms. 

We planned it out in every detail. 

One day, he carried our plans to the 
Man in Authority. 

There came up a question that the 
shipping clerk did not quite under- 
stand. 

And so they sent for me. 

I was a well dressed man at this 
time. 

Nothing flashy, nothing loud, but well 
clothed. 

That had been my first investment. 

My approach was far different from 
that of the sniveling beggar, who had 
asked the man on the street corner for 
food. 

The Man in Authority looked at me 
in surprise. 



34 "That Something'' 

"Who are you?" 

I handed him my card. 

These cards were my second invest- 
ment. 

He thumbed it a moment in silence. 

"You are packing boxes?'* he asked 
in surprise. 

"I am in the packing room — tempor- 
arily." 

And then he went over the shipping 
clerk's plans in detail. 

"I think they're all right," said the 
Man in Authority finally. "I'll have 
these forms sent to the printer in the 
morning." 

As we turned to leave the office, he 
called me back. 

"How long have you been in the 
packing rooms?" 

"Sixty-three days," I answered. 

"You've been there long enough. 
There is nothing more for you to learn 
there, is there?" 



"That Something" 35 



"No." 

He studied me for a while in silence. 

"Funny neither of 'em has ever said 
anything about you to me," he said at 
length, speaking half to himself. "I 
suppose the Old Man's idea was for 
you to work out your own salvation. 
Is that it?" 

"In a way," I replied. ''What any 
man accomplishes must eventually come 
from That Something' within him." 

He pondered this for a moment. 

Then he scrawled a few words on a 
piece of paper. 

"Hand that to Perkins in the Audit- 
ing Department tomorrow morning, 
and we'll see how you show up there." 

I thanked him, and turned to leave 
the room. 

"And say," calling me back the sec- 
ond time, "better forget about my hav- 
ing said anything about your relations 



36 "That Something" 

with the Old Man. After all, you see, 
it's none of my business." 

"Certainly," I answered, and left the 
room. 



Three months later, I left Bob's 
mother's boarding house. 

It hurt me to do this. 

She had been almost a mother to me. 

There was a home life about the 
place that I had learned to love. 

Even the little, hairy Ology Profes- 
sor and his fanciful theories had be- 
come dear to me. 

But "That Something" demanded 
that I move on. 

And so I moved on up the hill. 

I arranged for a small suite of rooms 
at a quiet family hotel. 

It was at the suggestion of the Man 
in Authority that I chose this hotel. 

It was where he lived. 



'That Something" 37 



And so we became at first acquaint- 
ances. 

Then friends. 

He urged that I join his club. 

I made friends of the right sort 
there. 

All of these things were investments. 

And never once did the Man in Au- 
thority mention the fact that I was 
"learning the business." 

And so a year rolled 'round. 

It was the time that Perkins took his 
vacation. 

I was given the place until he re- 
turned. 

One day the Old Man came into the 
office. 

He looked at me keenly. 

Directly the Man in Authority also 
came in. 

The Old Man called him aside. 

I overheard a portion of their con- 
versation. 



38 'That Something" 

"Who's the man at Perkins' desk?" 
the Old Man asked. 

The Man in Authority mentioned my 
name. 

"Funny I never heard of him be- 
fore," said the Old Man. 

The Man in Authority gasped. 

And the rest was spoken in guarded 
tones, and I heard no word further. 

That night, the Man in Authority 
came into my sitting room. 

"Say," he began, "you've certainly 
got me locoed or something of the sort. 
I have been figuring you out all along 
as a ward or a long lost cousin of the 
Old Man's. Now, today he comes in 
and jumps on me about putting you 
in this place of responsibility without 
first knowing all about you. Of course, 
I know you're all right," he added 
kindly, "but, by Jupiter, I'm placed in 
a deucedly unholy kind of a light, any- 
way." 



"That Something" 39 

'What's all the trouble?" I asked. 
*'My work going wrong?" 

''I should say not," he exclaimed 
with enthusiasm, ''but that's aside from 
the question. What's got me going is 
how the devil you did it. How you got 
to hold down the most responsible job 
on the works without anybody knowing 
just what you really are. Tell me 
about yourself, will you?" 

"Well," I began in a sing-song voice, 
"I was born of poor but honest parents, 
in a quaint little hamlet of Virginia, 
where the rising sun " 

"Oh, drat the history and the rising 
sun. Tell me who you are kin to, or 
who is backing you up. It's pull that 
counts, these days. Who gave you your 
start with the company?" 

I leaned back in my leather Morris 
chair. Memory brought back the pic- 
ture of that drab day, of just a year 
before. 



40 "That Something" 

And that brought to my mind the 
card that had been given me. 

I had not thought of it before until 
that minute. 

I arose, and went to a closet, where 
hung the very suit I had worn on that 
eventful day. I had kept it as a sou- 
venir of my awakening. 

And, as I had hoped, the card was in 
a pocket of the shabby vest. 

For the first time, I read the name 
engraved thereon. 



Matthew Morrison Randolph 
Bonds 



I handed it to the Man in Authority. 
He read it with wondering eyes. 



'That Something" 41 

Now, Randolph was the silent part- 
ner of the business. 

Impossible coincidence? 

You may think so. 

I know men who believe success is 
impossible. 

And to them, success IS impossible. 

And so, perhaps, you believe this 
impossible. 

But I tell you it as it happened. 

"Funny Randolph never mentioned 
your name to the Old Man," the Man 
in Authority was saying. "Anyvs^ay, I 
wish I'd known this when he was talk- 
ing about you, today.' 

"I'm glad you didn't," I answered 
with a short laugh. 

"Why?" he asked puzzled. 

"Go there to the phone and call up 
Randolph. I think he'll tell you why." 

"But " he began. 

"Go on and call him up. I want you 
to," I insisted. 



42 "That Something" 

In a moment, Randolph was on the 
line. 

"Ask him," I insisted. 

The Man in Authority did so. I 
watched the changing expressions on 
his face. 

"You - say - you - never -heard-of-the- 
man!" gasped the Man in Authority. 
"Why, he's holding down the most re- 
sponsible job on the place." 

"Better let me talk to Mr. Ran- 
dolph," I interrupted. 

His hand was trembling as he sur- 
rendered the phone. 

"Mr. Randolph," I said, "I know you 
do not remember my name, for I am 
quite sure you have never heard it. 
You may, however, remember one mis- 
erable day, a year ago, when a beggar 
asked you for food." 

"Well, go on," came a crisp voice 
over the phone. 



"That Something" 43 

''You may also remember telling that 
begg-ar that it was not food he needed. 
You told that man that it was 'That 
Something' he needed, and that alone. 
Well, Mr. Randolph, I am the beggar 
to whom you spoke, and I have found 
'That Something.' / have learned to 
use it, and I want to thank you for 
having shown me the way. When may 
I have the opportunity of telling you 
about it?" 



An hour later, the story you have 
just heard was told to a strange trio: 
the Man in Authority, the Professor of 
Ologies and Matthew Morrison Ran- 
dolph. From time to time, as I told 
the tale, Randolph nodded his head in 
approval, and I noticed a strange light 
begin to glow in the little professor's 
eyes. When I had finished, we sat for 



44 "That Something" 

a long time m silence, broken at last by 
Randolph, who said: 

**And now tell me just what you 
think 'That Something' really is?" 

I shook my head in dismay. 

"You folks know as much as I do 
about it," I answered. "But of this 
one thing, 1 am convinced, through and 
through. It is real POWER, as truly 
real as the electric current. 

It is the power of the inner man, the 
fuel of the soul machine. 

It is the one thing necessary. 

We are all of us born much alike. 

We come into the world, all animals 
of a type. 

All of us have the senses, equally 
developed. 

And then we begin to live, animals 
all. 

Until we wake "That Something" 
of the soul, we live as a horse lives. 



*That Something" 45 

We bear on our muscle those that 
have found 'That Something." 

And we bear them on up the moun- 
tain, to take their places among the 
masters of men. 

"That Something" lies dormant in 
every soul until aroused. 

With many, it sleeps until the last 
great sleep. 

Sometimes it does not wake until 
man stands tottering on the border of 
the grave. 

Sometimes it is found by the child, 
playing by its mother's knee. 

Some men have sneered, and called 
it Luck. 

Luck is but the fleeting smile of For- 
tune. 

"That Something" is the highway 
to her home. 

A man's success depends alone on 
"That Something." 

"That Something" of his SOUL. 



46 "That Something" 

Abraham Lincoln found it when a 
lad. 

It warmed the cold floor on which he 
lay and studied. 

It added light to the flickering glow 
of the wood fire, that he might see to 
read. 

It spurred him on, and on, and on. 

"That Something" is an awful 
force. 

It made of a puny Corsican the Ruler 
of the World! 

It made of a thin-chested bookkeeper 
the money king of a great country! 

It made of Edison the great man of 
his age! 

It made Carnegie! 

It made Woodrow Wilson! 

It made Roosevelt! 

It can make YOU ! 

And it is NOW in YOUR Soul! 

Awake it — now! 

"That Something!" 



"That Something" 47 

Again the silence followed. I watched 
the Professor of Many Ologies. I saw 
the kindled fires in his eyes gradually 
die out. He shook his head wearily. 

"No, it can't be done; it can't be 
done," he murmured. "I have drunk 
deeply of the cup of life, and I am now 
drinking of the dregs. The cup is filled 
but once, and when it's gone, there's 
nothing left but the dregs of old age 
and poverty/' 

"You fool," cried Randolph, leaning 
forward and shaking the little man 
roughly. "You almost had That Some- 
thing' in your power, and now you 
sing it hack to sleep with your silly 
song of pessimism. It's the false phil- 
osophy, that such as you sing, which 
has kept men in the ruts of their own 
digging for centuries past. Wake, man, 
wake! Wake That Something' with- 
in your soul!" 



48 "That Something' 



The two men sat looking deeply into 
each other's eyes. 

It was the little man who broke the 
silence. 

"Thank you, Randolph," he said 
quietly. "You are right. I WILL!'' 

Then Randolph turned to me. 

"Man, write that story you've told 
us. Write it so that every man may 
read. Send that message out into the 
world. If men will read that story, 
read and reread, until it is written on 
their memories, if men will believe the 
message you bring, and then if they 
will but awake that something within 
their souls that now lies asleep — I say 
if you can make men do this, you will 
have done more for mankind than any 
man or any thousand men have done in 
many, many years. Write it, man, 
write it word for word as you have 
told it here, so every man may read. 
Write it, man, write it!" 



"That Something" 49 

And so it has been written. 
******* 

And you, who have read it through, 
I pray that you may read it every word 
again and again, until that something 
of your souls has been aroused, and you 
have taken your places among the 
Rulers of the World. 




THE END 

WHICH IS THE 

BEGINNING 



"SKOOTING SKYWARD" 

BY 
W. W. WOODBRIDGE 

[Author of " That Something, " " Kidnapping Woodrowena," Etc.] 

BOARD COVERS 
EIGHT FULL PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS 

" Skooting Skyward " is a most wonderful word pic- 
ture of Mt. Tacoma, " painted with a crude brush." It is 
a story that holds one with a gentle, pleasing grip of in- 
terest from the first page until the happy ending. A per- 
son unfamiliar with Northwestern Scenery will realize as 
never before the Wonders of the North Pacific Coast after 
reading this book. 

But " Skooting Skyward " is not a book of descrip- 
tions. The reader sees the Mountain through the eyes of 
Mr. Woodrow Bridges, housepainter and "fillosoffer," and 
climbs with his party to the " land above the air-line, in 
the Valley of the Clouds." 

" Skooting Skyward " has a humor all its own — a 
whimsical kind of humor, that brings a smile to the face 
and holds it there until the book is regretfully laid aside. 
Each of its seven chapters is brimming with anecdotes of 
a most amusing nature. 

"Skoosing Skyward" is the ONLY story ever written 
with Ranier National Park as its setting. 

FOR SALE AT ALL DEALERS 

Or Mailed Direct on Receipt of 50c in Stamps 

THE SMITK-DIGBY COMPANY 
Tacoma, - - Washington 



"WJ 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



015 988 869 1 %